


Across a Crowded Room

by Other_Pens



Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Pining, Regency, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Other_Pens/pseuds/Other_Pens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something isn't right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across a Crowded Room

_London, 1808_

"George--George, you must come and meet Lady Brentlow!"

It was the usual sort of London people at the usual sort of London party, and George was a little surprised to think he would be meeting anybody new at this point in the Season, and so with good humour and curiosity, he let the evening's hostess take his arm and guide him across the crowded ballroom.  
 

"Now _I_ knew her mother as a girl," Laurentia Craddock went on in a lower voice, explaining to him as they went. "And it's a wonder that she's finally come to town at last--"  
 

"At last?"  
 

"Sir John Brentlow is not overly fond of company," said Laurentia with a shrug. "Hasn't stirred from his manor up in the north for...oh, too many years--not since he married, and _she_ was only just eighteen, then. I expect he has hidden himself away in the card room. But we must cheer her up now that she is here, and so I am introducing her to, oh, everyone. She is a native of Derbyshire, as it happens, so if all else fails you may speak to her of your common county."  
 

A moment later they had stopped beside a finely-dressed woman who stood very nearly as still as a statue in her corner of the room.  
 

"Lady Brentlow, do allow me to introduce--"  
 

" _George...!_ George Haverleigh!"  
 

George had dutifully bowed as Laurentia had begun the introduction and the lady turned to face them, but the gasping mention of his name brought his head up, and his mouth fell open a little with surprise.  
 

"Freddie--Freddie Bexley? Surely--"  
 

"You know each other?" asked Laurentia.  
 

"We were neighbours growing up..." explained George, casting Freddie a wide grin, to which she gave a small smile. "But...good Lord, how many years has it been? When I last saw you, you can't have been more than twelve..."

"No," agreed Freddie. "It has been a very long time." She was still smiling, at least, and so Laurentia felt that her duties of cheering her old friend's daughter were accomplished, and with a satisfied smile, she let herself be called away by another guest, leaving the two old neighbours to reacquaint themselves. There was something, however, which Laurentia Craddock did not--or could not--see: the brittleness of Lady Brentlow's smile, or the sudden darkening of her green eyes.

"I had heard you married, when I returned from university..." said George, wondering how exactly one made small-talk with a childhood friend, after so much time had passed. Freddie looked well enough--and she had certainly grown up to be a very pretty woman. 

"Yes," said Freddie. "Your mother must have been happy to have you home, again. She was rather disappointed when you chose to spend your holidays with a friend, rather than returning home."

"Ah, poor Mother. She forgave me, I think." 

"Of course," murmured Freddie. "And...and you are married, now?"

"Oh, no," said George with a shrug and a sheepish smile. "But there is always time for that, I suppose. And Phillip, to inherit, if I am to be a confirmed bachelor." 

"Indeed."

It hadn't always been this difficult to talk to Freddie, once. George dared to glance at her profile again as she watched the lines of dancers going through their figures, and felt, for a moment, that something was not quite right.

"And...shall you be staying in town long?" 

"Not long, no," said Freddie. "We are on our way to Bath. I must take the waters, there." For all she was a strangely cool and reserved creature, rather unlike the girl he remembered, George could not see that Lady Brentlow was at sickly-seeming. Freddie seemed to catch his curious look, and smiled tightly. She could not tell _George Haverleigh_ of all people that she despaired of ever having a child. That Sir John's evident disappointment in his pretty young wife had only increased with every barren year that had passed since Freddie had set aside her dreams and made what was supposed to have been a Very Good Match.

  
_Why did he not come back?_ cried the heavy heart she had carefully locked away so many years ago. _Why did I not have the courage to wait, however long it might have taken?_

But she had been so young, and secretly uncertain as to her future. Sir John's plain intentions had been a kind of security, and Frederica had felt so very lost in that lonely whirl of her first winter in Society. The superficial conversations, the posturings of pride, the meaningless nature of all impulsive flirtations...Freddie had rapidly lost all faith in the pretty show of manners, and felt the foolishness of her naive expectations. George wasn't going to come back, and who knew if he ever would? Frederica Bexley was no society darling, no particular beauty of note. A prettyish country girl with a little money and a father who hardly cared what became of her. Sir John Brentlow was not a bad man. Freddie had to be realistic.

"...would you like to dance, Freddie?" asked George, his tone growing gentle when he saw the half-pained look in her eyes as she stared out at the twirling figures, recalling the joy-starved little girl she had been, and recognizing that same hunger in the quiet woman who stood beside him. He knew he really ought to address her as _Lady Brentlow_ , but somehow could not bring himself to do it. 

Frederica smiled a little, again, and, again, there was no true happiness behind it. George Haverleigh had asked her to dance with him. At least one childhood dream had come true--but too late...much too late.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and George followed her look, to where an older gentleman with sharp features had appeared, evidently in search of her. Sir John raised his hand and silently bid her to him, before he turned and went out.

"I must go," she said. "I have quite given up dancing; and as you see, my husband does not care for parties..." She saw George half-reach to take hold of her hand in farewell, and she immediately dropped into a curtsy to avoid it, knowing she would not be able to bear it if he touched her now. "Goodbye, Mr. Haverleigh." 

"Goodbye...Lady Brentlow."

Frederica was endlessly grateful that her exit from the ballroom meant that George could not see the sheen of helpless tears in her eyes. Regaining her self-control as she was handed into the carriage by a footman while Sir John already sat inside, Freddie folded her trembling hands together tightly in her lap, sitting rigidly upright as they drove away back to the silence of Brentlow House.

"I have decided we shall leave for Bath the day after tomorrow," said Sir John. "A fortnight there, perhaps, before we go home." 

"Will a fortnight be long enough to make any difference?" asked Freddie faintly.

"You have had twelve years to produce a son, Frederica," he said sharply. " _That_ has been _long enough_ , I should think." A brief silence fell over the two occupants of the carriage before Sir John spoke again. "When your maid has helped you with your gown, you are to come to my room tonight." 

Freddie swallowed heavily, then felt the last painful beatings of her heart subside, and the accustomed numbness of her years as Lady Brentlow stole over her once more as she nodded, once...

...and woke with a gasp. 

Sweat beaded upon her brow and everything seemed too heavy--the darkness, the covers, the air. Freddie kicked at the sheets and blankets, finally sitting up to wrestle with the coverlet that wanted to smother her.

"Freds, what is it?" George's muffled, sleepy voice drifted out of the gloom, and Freddie saw that he lay face-down in a pillow at her side. 

"...a dream," she groaned, pushing a strand of hair out of her pale, clammy face. "It was only a terrible dream."

"'Bout what?" 

Freddie still shuddered to think of it as she lay back down and cuddled under George's arm.

"...I think I'd given up on dreams," she murmured. 

"You? Never!" George's snort turned into a snore and Freddie sighed with relief as she closed her eyes.


End file.
